Though his daughter's words to him had been very wild they did
almost more to convince Mr Wharton that he should not give his
money to his son-in-law than even the letters which had passed
between them. To Emily herself he spoke very little as to what
had occurred that evening. 'Papa,' she said, 'do not ask me
anything more about it. I was very miserable,--because of the
dinner.' Nor did he at that time ask her any questions,
contenting himself with assuring her that, at any rate at
present, and till after her baby should have been born, she must
remain at Manchester Square. 'He won't hurt me,' said Mr
Wharton, and than added with a smile, 'He won't want to have any
more dinner parties while I am here.'

Nor did he make any complaint to Lopez as to what had been done,
or even allude to the dinner. But when he had been back about a
week he announced to his son-in-law his final determination as to
money. 'I had better tell you, Lopez, what I mean to do, so that
you may not be left in doubt. I shall not entrust any further
sum of money into your hands on behalf of Emily.'

'I dare say not. Opinions on such a matter differ, you know. At
any rate there will be no more. At present I wish Emily to live
her, and you, of course, are welcome here also. If things are
not going well with you, this will, at any rate, relieve you from
immediate expense.

'Mine are more minute. The necessities of my life have caused me
to think of these little things. When I am dead there will be
provision for Emily made by my will;--the income going to
trustees for her benefit, and the capital to her children after
her death. I thought it only fair to you that this should be
explained.'

'And I will be equally so to you now. Both I and your daughter
are absolutely ruined unless you reconsider your purpose.'

'If you mean money by reconsideration;--present money to be
given to you,--I certainly shall not reconsider it. You may
take my solemn assurance that I will give you nothing that can be
of any service to you in trade.'

Then, sir,--I must tell you my purpose, and give you my
assurance, which is equally solemn. Under those circumstances I
must leave England, and try my fortune in Central America. There
is an opening for me at Guatemala, though not a very hopeful
one.'

'Not take my wife, sir? Indeed I shall. Do you suppose that I
would go away and leave my wife a pensioner on your bounty? Do
you think that she would wish to desert her husband? I don't
think you know your daughter.'

'That is neither here not there, sir. If I cannot succeed in
this country I must go elsewhere. As I have told you before
20,000 pounds at the present moment would enable me to surmount
all my difficulties, and make me a very wealthy man. But unless
I can command some such sum by Christmas everything here must be
sacrificed.'

'Poor girl indeed! She is likely to be a poor girl if she is
treated in this way by her father. As I understand that you
intend to use, or to try to use, authority over her, I shall take
steps for removing her at once from your house.' And so the
interview was ended.

Lopez had thought the matter over, and had determined to 'brazen
it out', as he himself called it. Nothing further was, he
thought, to be got by civility and obedience. Now he must use
his power. His idea of going to Guatemala was not an invention
of the moment, nor was it devoid of a certain basis of truth.
Such a suggestion had been made to him some time since by Mr
Mills Happerton. There were mines in Guatemala which wanted, or
at some future date, might want, a resident director. The
proposition had been made to Lopez before his marriage, and Mr
Happerton probably had now forgotten all about it;--but the
thing was of service now. He broke the matter very suddenly to
his wife. 'Has your father been speaking to you of my plans?'

'Guatemala is in Central America, and we shall probably settle
there for the rest of our lives. I have got nothing to live on
here.'

During the next two months this plan of seeking a distant home
and a strange country was constantly spoken of in Manchester
Square, and did receive corroboration from Mr Happerton himself.
Lopez renewed his application and received a letter saying that
the thing might probably be arranged if he were in earnest. 'I
am quite earnest,' Lopez said as he showed the letter to Mr
Wharton. 'I suppose Emily will be able to start two months after
her confinement. They tell me babies do very well at sea.'

During this time, in spite of his threat, he continued to live
with Mr Wharton in Manchester Square, and went every day into the
city,--whether to make arrangements and receive instructions as
to Guatemala, or to carry on his old business, neither Emily nor
her father knew. He never at this time spoke about his affairs
to either of them, but daily referred to her future expatriation
as a thing that was certain. At last there came up the actual
question,--whether she were to go or not. Her father told her
that though she was doubtless bound by law to obey her husband, in
such a matter as this she might defy the law. 'I do not think
that he can actually force you on board the ship,' her father
said.

'Certainly you must. Good G-! Where is a wife's place? Am I to
go without my child, and without you, while you are enjoying all
the comforts of your father's wealth at home? That is not my
idea of life.'

'Ferdinand, I have been thinking about it very much. I must beg
you to allow me to remain. I ask it of you as if I were asking
my life.'

'Yes;--what good can I do now by lying? You have not been to me
as I thought you would be.'

'And, because you have built some castle in the air that has
fallen to pieces, you tell your husband to his face that you do
not love him, and that you prefer not to live with him. Is that
your idea of duty?'

'Cruel! What have I done? Tell me what cruelty. Have I beat
you? Have you been starved? Have I not asked and implored your
assistance,--only to be refused? The fact is that your father
and you have found out that I am not a rich man, and you want to
be rid of me. Is that true or false?'

'I do not mean to be rid of you. You will have to settle down
and do your work as my wife in whatever place it may suit me to
live. Your father is a rich man, but you shall not have the
advantage of his wealth unless it comes to you, as it ought to
come, through my hands. If your father would give me the fortune
which ought to be yours there need be no going abroad. He cannot
bear to part with his money, and therefore we must go. Now you
know all about it.' She was then turning to leave him, when he
asked her a direct question. 'Am I to understand that you intend
to resist my right to take you with me?'

Of course she told her father what had taken place; but he could
only shake his head, and groaning over his misery in his
chambers. He had explained to her what he was willing to do on
her behalf, but she declined his aid. He could not tell her that
she was wrong. She was the man's wife, and out of that terrible
destiny she could not now escape. The only question with him was
whether it would not be best to buy the man,--give him a some of
money to go, and to go alone. Could he have been quit of the man
even for 20,000 pounds, he would willingly have paid the money.
But the man would either not go, or would come back as soon as he
got the money. His own life, as he passed it now, with this man
in the house with him, was horrible to him. For Lopez, though he
had more than once threatened that he would carry his wife to
another home, had taken no steps towards getting that other house
ready for her.

During all this time Mr Wharton had not seen his son. Everett
had gone abroad just as his father returned to London from
Brighton, and was still on the continent. He received his
allowance punctually, and that was the only intercourse which
took place between them. But Emily had written to him, not
telling him much of her troubles,--only saying that she believed
her husband would take her to Central America early in the
spring, and begging him to come home before she went.

Just before Christmas her baby was born, but the poor child did
not live a couple of days. She herself at the time was so worn
with care, so thin and wan and wretched, that looking in the
glass she hardly knew her own face. 'Ferdinand,' she said to
him, 'I know he will not live. The Doctor says so.'

'Well; yes. I have looked at him, have I not? I wish to God
that where he is going I could go with him.'

'I wish I was;--I wish I was going,' said the poor mother. Then
the father went out, and before he had returned to the house the
child was dead. 'Oh, Ferdinand, speak one kind word to me now,'
she said.

'What kind word can I speak when you have told me that you do not
love me. Do you think that I can forget that because, because he
has gone?'

'Psha! How am I to kiss and make pretty speeches with my mind
harassed as it is now?' But he did touch her brow with his lips
before he went away.

The infant was buried, and then there was not much show of
mourning in the house. The poor mother would sit gloomily alone
day after day, telling herself that it was perhaps better that
she should have been robbed of her treasure than have gone forth
with him into the wide, unknown, harsh world with such a father
as she had given him. Then she would look at all the
preparations she had made,--the happy work of her fingers when
her thoughts of their future use were her sweetest consolation,--
and weep till she would herself feel that there never could be an
end to her tears.

The second week in January had come and yet nothing further had
been settled as to the Guatemala project. Lopez talked about it
as though it was certain, and even told his wife as they would
move so soon it would not be now worth while for him to take
other lodgings for her. But when she asked as to her own
preparations,--the wardrobe necessary for the long voyage and
her general outfit,--he told her that three weeks or a fortnight
would be enough for all, and that he would give her sufficient
notice. 'Upon my word he is very kind to honour my poor house as
he does,' said Mr Wharton.

'Nay, Emily; do not turn upon me. I cannot but be sensible to
the insult of his daily presence, but even that is better than
losing you.'

Then there occurred a ludicrous incident,--or the combination of
incidents,--which, in spite of their absurdity, drove Mr Wharton
almost frantic. First there came to him the bill from Messrs
Stewam and Sugarscraps for the dinner. At this time he kept
nothing back from his daughter. 'Look at that!' he said. The
bill was absolutely made out in his name.

'Not at all. The dinner was given in my house, and I must pay
for it. I would sooner do so than he should pay it,--even if he
had the means.' So he paid Messrs Stewam and Sugarscraps 25
pounds 9s 6d., begging them as he did so never to send another
dinner into his house, and observing that he was in the habit of
entertaining his friends at less than three guineas a head. 'But
Chateau Yquem and Cote d'Or!' said Mr Sugarscraps. 'Chateau
fiddlesticks!' said Mr Wharton, walking out of the house with his
receipt.

Then came the bill for the brougham,--for the brougham from the
very day of their return to town after their wedding trip. This
he showed to Lopez. Indeed the bill had been made out to Lopez
and sent to Mr Wharton with an apologetic note. 'I didn't tell
him to send it,' said Lopez.

'I certainly shall not ask you to pay it.' But Mr Wharton at
last did pay it, and he also paid the rent of the rooms in the
Belgrave Mansions, and between 30 pounds and 40 pounds for
dresses which Emily had got at Lewes and Allenby's under her
husband's orders in the first days of their married life in
London.